


Rock Beats Paper

by dirtyschmoopydestiel



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Awesome Charlie Bradbury, Cas is kinda an asshole, Dean is a whiny baby, Kisses, M/M, bookstore owner!cas, i still can't tag, recordshop owner!dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-06
Updated: 2014-08-06
Packaged: 2018-02-12 02:55:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2092983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dirtyschmoopydestiel/pseuds/dirtyschmoopydestiel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based off that text post from tumblr where Cas owns a bookstore and Dean owns a record shop right next to each other but they hate each for petty reasons until they kinda kiss...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rock Beats Paper

**Author's Note:**

> I promise to name it better once I find a better name and also this was beta'd by the lovely [Dani](http://archiveofourown.org/users/My_OTP_is_Better/pseuds/My_OTP_is_Better)!

There are only two things in this world that Dean Winchester hates: people with bad music taste and Castiel Novak.  The arrogant prick was the reason he had street parking instead of the parking in the back lot and he was also the reason Dean was stuck with the smaller shop with plain shop windows instead of the gorgeous French bay windows that rat bastard got. Dean can’t be too bitter of course, when he thinks about it; it makes his record shop look more authentic.

“Hell Bound Sound” was his pride and joy. Dean scrimped and saved since high school, working odd jobs until he had enough saved up and now it’s a pretty successful little record store.  There’s really only one catch: it’s right next door to “Feathers and Pages,” the world’s most pretentious book store. Okay, so it’s not so much the book store as the owner. If you forced Dean’s hand behind his back he _might_ admit that it’s a pretty good little shop. Castiel’s book store is one of those hipster-type shops  where he buys and sells used book and it’s always the really good ones, practically nothing from this decade, _especially_ not those God awful, love-crazed vampire type of books. It’s quite a nice place - cozy with lots of mismatched big leather chairs, grandma-looking end tables and carpet that looks like it belongs in a herbal shop rather than a book store with books crammed practically everywhere, which doesn’t seem to have any kind of system but somehow the customers always find what they are looking for.

It was four in the morning and fucking freezing when Dean sighed as he unlock the security gate and pushed it up. He took a sip of his coffee before unlocking the shop door and entering. His own store is the crown jewel of the shopping district. Dean loves walking in and seeing his dark hardwood floors and walls coated in wooden shelves holding all of the greatest records known to man; the freestanding record bins; the exposed brick walls and posters covering any surface they would stick to. It was a bit of a cliché but he wouldn’t change a thing. This time of day was his favorite: right before the shopping district heats up and people start littering the street, it’s quiet and relaxing to walk around his store getting everything ready for a day of sales. It’s not the most popular place in town, but with records making a comeback and classic rock being the trendy thing to buy, it keeps a decent amount of traffic.  

Dean flipped the lights as the door closed behind him, taking another sip of coffee while admiring the view; he ran a clean, tight ship without a speck of dust and records organized so well it could bring a tear to the eye. The whole store was sorted into genres and then alphabetized by band and then in chronological order. His cashier and best friend Charlie thinks it’s all a bit much but Dean couldn’t really care less.  Taking yet another sip of coffee, Dean moved through the store, making mental notes of records to look out for and ones to put online. Most of the records moved off the shelf at a decent enough pace but those that were really rare (if Dean already had a copy) or too slow to move were put online to sell, which was mostly Charlie’s job. Speaking of the redhead - Dean looked down as his watch - she should be in the shop in a little over two hours so he needed to get a move on.  There was sweeping and mopping and counters to clean, records to put on the shelves and music to pick out for the day; Dean quickly got to work.

\---

He was still putting records in the proper places when Charlie walked in, jamming out to her iPod. Dean should probably fire her for even owning the device but someone needs to run the site and it sure as hell won’t be him.

“Hey!” Charlie called out as she horribly danced (seriously, the cabbage patch!?)  her way to behind the counter.  It was crossing over into funky chicken territory when Dean popped out one of her headphone’s ear pieces.

“Ow! What’s up the with rude move, Winchester?” Charlie grimaced as she paused her music and pulled off her head phones, “I was jammin’ out!”

“I know,” he said with a smirk,” I wanted it to stop.”

Charlie wrinkled her nose,” You need to lighten up, pronto,” she suggested, stowing away her “jammin’ out” equipment.

“Yeah, I’ll get right on that,” he deadpanned before picking up the last of the records and putting them away.

“Uh-oh, I know what’s wrong,” she answered with a knowing smile. “You ran into Castiel.”  She crossed her arms and struck a pose that read: “Don’t lie to me Winchester.”

“Gah! That guy is such a pretentious douchebag, acts like every word that comes out of his mouth is law,” he ranted, setting down the records and throwing his hands in the air. “Do you know what he told me!?”

“What?” Charlie asked, squatting down behind the counter and filing through the cassettes for a song to play on the overhead speakers.

“He told me that my windows are getting milky and I should clean them because they were bringing down the district! I keep my shop ten more organized and clean then he ever dreamed of and he has the nerve to tell _me_ to clean! Has he seen his store!?” Dean was practically shouting now, enraged at this point.

“I don’t know, maybe it was more of a suggestion than a comma-FOUND IT!” She held up the cassette tape like it was a lost treasure before putting it into the player.

 “Cherry Bomb” started playing overhead and Dean rolled his eyes. “Really? Charlie, every time you pick it’s pretty much always this song.” 

She just shrugged before starting to set up the register. Dean took the hint that the conversation was over and went back to shelving records. He could understand her brushing off the Castiel situation because it was an old topic at this point that should have probably been settled by now, but he couldn’t help it. Because Castiel was an asshole. Seriously.

The day came and went with nothing too eventful consuming the day - that was until he was leaving the shop, while Castiel was doing the exact same thing and the exact same time. They nodded towards each other, with a hint of snide seeping into it. Dean was walking to his baby when he heard the very faint but very obvious, “You’re windows are still dirty,” coming from Castiel.

 He stopped dead in his tracks and turned around stomping right into Cas’s, shit - he meant Castiel’s - territory.

Cas blinked up at him like he was bored before the conversation even started, “You know what Castiel?”

“What is it, Dean?” he asked sounding half-genuine and half-pissed which, wow okay, was a weird combo he didn’t even know existed.

“You can fuck off,” he bit out.

“Excuse you?” He asked, seeming almost offended.

“You heard me. You’ve given me nothing but crap since we both started up shop three years ago and I’m sick of it. Why the hell do you give me so much grief? You’re the one that got the better parking and the bigger shop with the nicer windows. I mean seriously, what the hell Cas?”

“Cas?” he asked as though nothing but the nickname was important.

“Yeah,” Dean shrugged, “it’s shorter and I’m lazy.”

Cas snorted before smiling and starting to walk off. “Good night, Dean.”

“Hey! I was talking to you!” Dean shouted before grabbing hold of Cas’s elbow and turning him around.

“Yes, but I don’t care.” Cas blinked up at him and Goddamn him and his stupid face that was _not_ attractive right about now.

“Well you should!” He was getting angry now; being pushed off to the side like this didn’t matter.

“Shut up,” He said plain and simple, not rude but honest.

“Make me, Novak!” Then suddenly Dean was being pushed up against the “milky” glass windows of his store with a six foot kissing god working his tongue into Dean’s mouth. Cas’s hands moved to either side of his face before slowly slipping a leg in between his own and causing a delicious friction that Dean immediately wanted more of.  At some point Dean’s hands grew a mind of their own and started making executive decisions, like gripping Cas’s too-perfect hips as they kissed. And damn it if it wasn’t the best kiss of his life.

Cas pulled off of the kiss, biting Dean’s bottom lip and pushing off. “Goodnight, Winchester,” he waved, sauntering off. _Son of a bitch!_

 

**Author's Note:**

> If you like it I may continue it!
> 
> My [Tumblr](http://www.dirtyschmoopydestiel.tumblr.com/).


End file.
